


Strange Dreams

by sepulchralseneschal



Series: The Snakeoil Warden [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepulchralseneschal/pseuds/sepulchralseneschal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the second morning of their travels together, and Niale Tabris isn't feeling so hot. But that doesn't stop her from teasing her companions</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

_Rending, ripping, roiling. The crowd rolled to and fro like a great sea, undulating against the walls of a massive obsidian canyon. Their swollen, tumorous heads were the grub-white bubbles that capped the crests of an ocean's waves, bodies lifted into the air by the force of their neighbors agitation, raising their gaping mouths to the abyss above and emitting a frothy, hissing roar. Their smell was old meat and fresh blood, tarnish and tar and marshy muck. ___

_Niale looked down on them from some unknown vantage point. She couldn't see the ground on which she rested, couldn't move arm or leg to test its borders, and when the writhing mass of unliving creatures turned as one to look up, she couldn't remove herself safely from their gaze. But they didn't seem to see her, or if they did, they didn't care. No, something else was there in the darkness, and as each eye found it, whether slit-pupiled or milky glass, they lit up with a fiery green glee. There was a sound that she felt more than heard; a shuddering rumble that left her ears injured and ringing, like the wrath of the Maker himself. There was a gust of hot wet on the back of her neck. She cast her eyes upwards... ___

__And she saw the ceiling of the tavern cellar lurking above her in the gloom._ _

__Niale allowed herself a few seconds to catch her breath. She pressed her fingers to her wrist. Her pulse was racing and irregular. As she lifted herself from her bedroll with a groan, she found her hair sticking to her sweaty skin. The refugees around her stared, distrust etched into their harried features. For the first time in her life, she hoped it was because she was an elf. She rolled up her bedroll and slung it over her shoulder. The people parted around her as she made her way to the stairs._ _

__Up in the barroom, Niale found her companions already awake and breaking their fast. Alistair was busy tucking into a meat pie that spurted red juices every time he landed a bite. Leliana's dining habits were more refined, of course. Not a crumb of crust escaped her shapely lips._ _

__She saw how the two exchanged a glance when they caught sight of her, and so when Alistair raised a hand in greeting, her first instinct was to scowl. But that wouldn't do, she told herself: if she had reason to be skeptical of either of these humans, it would be best that they not know of it. So she smiled and waved and wiped the sweat from her temples as she tucked her hair behind her ears._ _

__“Good day!” Leliana said as she sank into the seat opposite them. Her lilting, sing-song tone grated on Niale's frayed nerves. How could anybody be so chipper at this early hour? Speaking of which..._ _

__“What time is it?” She asked, stuffing the heel of her palm into her eye socket and rubbing._ _

__“Oh, it has to be mid-morning at least. I would've woken you, but Ali– well, we thought you would need some rest.”_ _

“Yes well, I _was_ shot in the 'eart two days ago.” 

__Alistair snorted into his pie._ _

__“Where's Morrigan?”_ _

__Leliana's nose wrinkled, as if someone had just passed gas and she was trying not to notice. “She is...she said she wanted to see the town.”_ _

__“Yes, that's exactly what she said. Polite as you please. She certainly didn't call anyone a 'sanctimonious harpy.'” Alistair popped the last of the pie down and continued to chew as he talked. “She's probably out there collecting children's tears for her next potion. Pinching old ladies. Pulling cats' whiskers.” Leliana tutted him, but he took no notice, sucking gravy from his fingers. “Are you hungry, Nails?”_ _

__Niale was ravenous, but that... nightmare, she guessed it was... it had turned her stomach, so she shook her head._ _

__He narrowed his thin almond eyes at her. “Right, well...you're welcome to share if you change your mind.” And he stuck his arm high above his head._ _

__The barman approached the table to attend to his patrons, and Alistair began a long and rambling order that included the phrase 'pile of pies,' and a pleading request for cheese. But the other details escaped her notice, as Leliana leaned forward to catch her attention._ _

__“So. Now that I am to be traveling with you, I hoped you could tell me where exactly it is we are headed.”_ _

__“Erm, well..” Niale shuffled her feet beneath her chair. “We 'ave these treaties, but...” she glanced at Alistair again when the bartender, looking rather stressed, left for the kitchens. “The others seem to think we should deal with Loghain first.”_ _

__“I never said that! I only said I knew some people who would oppose him.” Alistair held up his hands as he once again shrugged all of the responsibility off onto her shoulders._ _

“Yea, but why even mention that unless you think he _should_ be opposed?” 

___“Idle gossip? Political intrigue?” He smiled briefly, but the subject was too serious for even his jokes at the moment. He leaned forward._ _ _

“Loghain _betrayed _us. And normally I'd say 'let's let the Senior Wardens deal with it,' but oh, look at that, they're all dead! Thanks to him. And if we want to have any chance of defeating the Blight, we'll need the men he commands.”__

There was a brief pause as everyone considered this argument. Alistair was uncomfortable in this silence, a fact which was apparent in the way in which he pushed the crumbs around on his plate. When it had gone on longer than he could bear, he pushed himself against the back of his chair and folded his arms with a huff. “Look, I don't know if this is what we should be doing _right now_. I'm as new to this Blight stuff as you are. All I'm saying is it's an issue we should address at _some_ point.” 

“This issue might be more easily addressed when we have a stronger base of support. Which we could get usin' the treaties.” Niale countered. In truth, she had no preference either way, past a certain eagerness to meet with the Dalish that she recognized as the echo of a childish dream. She had yet to get the full measure of her companions, however, and this shem's reactions to her poking were curious. 

“Possibly...” He conceded. 

“And maybe if we delayed from attackin' Loghain a while longer, all the plum-dandy Lords and Ladies will get fed up and deal with our 'issue' for us.” 

“ _Possibly_ ,” he said again, but this time he was much more circumspect. 

Niale had never met someone so committed to being non-committal. 

Leliana did not have that problem. 

“That would splinter the country into pieces! You would sit on your hands as innocents died in a futile civil war?” 

_Oh_ , Niale thought as she regarded the passionate spark in the Orlesian's blue eyes, _I will enjoy my debates with this one._

“My dear sister, why should I care?” she asked. “Who among us is _truly_ innocent?” 

Leliana almost gasped in outrage, but the barman reappeared before she could properly formulate a response, accompanied by a young maid who shared the shape of his eyes and his downturned mouth. 

Between them they carried two pewter mugs, a dish of turnovers that smelled strongly of venison, a skewered and roasted eel, a loaf of herbed bread, and a dessicated lump that appeared to be the earwax of a giant, but which in actuality was a strange sort of cheese made from druffalo milk. 

Alistair, who had slowly slumped deep into his chair, now sat up straight, his tongue wetting his lower lip and leaving it gleaming. It was a veritable feast, and, Niale noted, a second helping for these two. She remembered the state of her coin purse and furrowed her brow. 

“You seem to be makin' a rich man out of an innkeep, Alistair.” 

He patted the air as if calming an invisible horse. “That man you made the poisons for, he promised to settle us up as a reward.” 

“Ah. So instead you're makin' a poor man of a farmer.” 

“It's just breakfast!” He said, ripping off a hunk of bread and stuffing it into his mouth. “Besides, who knows the next time we'll be able to eat like this!” Next he grabbed one of the mugs, but instead of taking a swig of it himself, he reached across the table and placed it in front of her. “Here. Drink this.” 

Niale stared at the drink suspiciously. It was steaming, and it smelled of burnt hay. “Why?” 

“It's tea. Trust me.” 

The mug was warm to the touch. Almost too hot to bear, in fact, but she wrapped her fingers around it anyway. The acrid aroma filled her nose. It was nothing like the “tea” Shialora had her make and sell, but that was no surprise. Those elixirs were nothing more than stewed street water, with city stable grass and whatever other less savory notes accumulated along the way, and a healthy spritz of crab apple to hide the worst of it all. 

But just because it wasn't like that phony concoction, that did not mean Niale trusted it. Alistair might be the honest sort, but she didn't know the bartender's arse from his other end. 

Alistair was watching her carefully, however, with an expression on his face that looked like concern. Which made no sense; she was little more than a stranger to this boy. She took a hearty gulp to assuage whatever it was that compelled him to stare, and forced the liquid down her throat before it was cool enough to taste. He seemed satisfied, taking a drink from his own mug before setting into the cheese. 

Niale eyed Leliana, who sat with her hands in her lab, apparently contemplating the grain of the table 

“It seems our dear sister shares my concern about the state o' this farmer's finances.” 

Alistair made a petulant face, but Leliana interupted before she could continue to provoke him. 

“Oh! I am only full is all. I am not used to such...heavy food. Especially in the mornings.” She smiled and inclined her head. 

“But you're Orlesian." 

Leliana looked at the elf, and there was a forced nature to the innocence in her eyes. “..Yes?” She hid it well, but Niale knew a defensive tone when she heard it. She pressed on anyway. 

“Isn't Orlais supposed to be the capital o' rich foods? Cream puffs, cream sauces, _creamed calf's brains?”_

“No!” Alistair was horrified. 

“I read it in a book.” Niale assured him. 

“There is a difference between _rich_ food and _heavy_ food,” Leliana said, the color rising in her cheeks. “When we cook, every ingredient is important. The method and timing is carefully calculated!” 

A silence settled around the table as the two Fereldans looked at her. She frowned and cast her eyes upwards in concession. “In any event, it has been some time since I have had such meals. In the Chantry it is broth for dinner more often than not.” 

“Eugh, don't remind me.” Alistair smeared an especially large dollop of cheese onto the bread he had grabbed as if in protest. “They used to use the prospect of meat as incentive in our studies. It was a good thing I could impress them with my sword, or I would've wasted away into nothing. Although come to think of it, there are worse fates. I rather like the idea of haunting the Chantry halls as a ghost, crying 'Beef! Beeeeeeeef!'” The young man took a bite of the bread and laughed at his own joke. “Anyways, at least at Redcliffe I could get scraps from the kitchens. 

Niale squinted. He said that he was impartial, but Alistair seemed to have one particular place on his mind. “So you say this Arl Eamon raised you?” 

“Did I say that?” He asked, astounded. “I meant to say that it was dogs. Roving packs of dogs. We have those in the Hinterlands, you know.” 

She raised a brow at this man's defensive technique. Bouncing back and forth between sarcasm and absurdity might have been enough to disorient someone else to keep them from the sensitive questions, but he would not keep her. Her ne'erdowell friends had taught her the best way to beat it: escalate it. 

“That would explain the smell.” 

Leliana surpressed a sigh. Alistair, a scoff. 

“Well, you wouldn't believe how long it took to figure out I wasn't supposed to bathe myself with my tongue. Gave the revered mother quite a shock, I did.” 

She laughed at that, and even Leliana held a hand up to her mouth to hide a smile. 

“She was probably just impressed with your reach and flexibility,” Niale said. She set her mug down and leaned forward on her elbows, affecting a curious attitude “it sounds extensive.” 

“Yes, well...” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the people at the next table over. “They had to train it out of me. They don't like dogs over at the Chantry, you know. Too much fun for them. That's why they won't canonize Andrate's Mabari...” But then his expression changed suddenly to serious. “Or perhaps I dreamt all that.” he watched her again with that expression: pinched mouth and inquisitive brow. “Strange, the dreams you'll have lying on the cold hard ground.” 

Niale heard the foamy roar and felt a hot, wet breath on her back. The nape of her neck prickled, but she would not allow herself to dwell on last night's memories. And she would not allow Alistair to steer the conversation in that direction. 

“...Have... _you_...been having any strange dreams?” He asked. 

“Only the ones where we make the beast with two backs.” She winked at him, as quick with her answer as he was slow with his question. 

It was an automatic remark; flirtation being her deflection of choice in the alienage. But she wasn't in the alienage anymore, and when she heard those words leave her mouth, she realized how lewd they were in this context. Blotches of red spotted her cheeks and she quickly pretended to be fascinated with the eel on the table. She had been careful to guard herself against the unwanted advances of humans so far, but with a slip of the tongue, she had set the precedent for lechery with her own two hands. Maker's fucking Bride, what had she done? 

She saw both Leliana and Alistair shift in their seats from the corner of her eye. She offered a brave smile. She must act confident now; if she showed her embarrassment, she would mark herself vulnerable. 

And so she looked back up at the two of them, resolute, and was somewhat astonished to find that it was the Chantry sister who was smirking, and the Grey Warden who demured. 

He coughed into his hand, then wiped a fleck of gravy from his goatee and examined it, clearly stalling for time while he waited for a proper response to come to him. 

“I, er...ha, Ahem.” 

_Is this shem shy?_ She thought, looking on in wonderment as the great tower of a man blushed between his freckles. 

“...What er, what was I saying?” 

“Lost your train of thought, have you?” Leliana cooed. 

Alistair _giggled_. Cor, he was like a nervous maid. “Er...completely,” he admitted. 

Niale's smile was genuine now, and triumphant. She had out-teased the human, and they all knew it. 

“You were telling me about you and Arl Eamon...” 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niale discovers something that changes her opinion of Alistair.  
> \--

The dwarf was polite. Deferential, even, but Niale knew a fellow snake when she saw one.

“My boy and I, we can offer you the deal of the Age if you'll have us.”

It would seem Bodahn could recognize a comrade too, for his eye gleamed when he began to bargain. Under normal circumstances she would be eager to haggle, but after the altercation at the tavern she was wary of followers, no matter how harmless they seemed. She folded her arms and squinted.

Bodahn stammered, and scrambled to find a way to sweeten the deal. “I can even offer you free enchanting services. And you won't find a higher quality anywhere.”

Niale fully intended to let silence and the threat of Duncan's sword to be her answer, but then a voice came floating over her shoulder.

“Aw Nails, let them stay.”

She turned to see Alistair trudging toward them. He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “The more the merrier, right?”

“Th'bigger the camp, th'more attention we're likely to attract,” she countered, arching a brow.

“ _And_ the more eyes we have to spot suspicious activity.” Alistair's face mirrored hers. The fact that he argued back surprised her. 

She smirked. He was learning.

“You don't think ten eyes are enough? The Blight, the war, and on top of all that, you want t'add the stress o' safeguarding civilians?”

“That's what we're here for, isn't it? Protecting people.” His mouth was full and wide, and when he smiled, it spread past the canines. Disarming.

“I think protectin' _ourselves_ takes priority, don't you? Or 'ave you forgotten why we're tucked away in the woods?”

She tried to be as vague as possible when implying the dangers they faced, but still she saw Bodahn's friendly facade crack when she spoke. “Er...perhaps...”

“Nonsense,” Alistair said as he began to poke around the dwarf's wares, “Don't listen to her barking.”

The dwarf didn't seem convinced, but before he could voice his doubts, Alistair leaned forward over the open crates and nearly shouted.

“No!! Are those Avvar runes?”

“Er. Yes. Yes they are.” There was some hesitation in Bodahn's voice, but it melted away as his love for business overcame his fears. “Direct from Frostback Basin. Who knows the next time anyone will be able to go that far south again.”

Alistair reached down and grabbed a fistful of the artifacts in question. “Look at these!” He turned back to Niale and brandished them at her. “You have to let them stay!”

He cupped a rainbow of stones in his palm, the names of which Niale had never learned. They were religious talismans, not enchanting runes, and they were rounded and dented by the natural polish of worrying thumbs. They _were_ pretty, she thought to herself. But she didn't have to admit that to him.

“Piffle. They're just beads.” She began to chuckle, but as she lifted her gaze from his hands to his face, she saw the light of the campfire flash across it and his eyes twinkled with more than mirth. The laughter died in her throat.

It couldn't be.

As their eyes locked, his lips parted and his smile faded to an echo of what it was. His gaze darted across her face, brow furrowed, and as he did so his pupils flickered again. No. There was no mistaking it.

Alistair was half-blooded. She should have recognized sooner. How could she not have recognized? The sharp bridge of the nose, the slightest pinch of the ears; the clues were there if she had bothered to look for them. But she had hardly spared him a thought past what was necessary for them to complete their duty, past what arguments she could start with him to pass the time. She had apparently been too caught up in her own reactions to the shem world to recognize any brethren around her. And here one was, and he was strong and kind and honest, if a bit too trusting. Someone worth noticing. Her cheeks blazed with shame.

His pinkened too, and he cast his eyes back to Bodahn, breaking the spell.

“It's just two dwarves and a cart, Nails. It could be worse. It could be a company of mummers. That is, unless...” He pursed his lips. “You're not wearing motley under that tunic, are you?”

Bodahn laughed nervously. “No, I'm afraid all those lumpy bits are thanks to food, not fabric.”

“Well, there you have it.” Alistair tilted his head back in her direction. His elvish eyes implored her.

“...Yes...yes, fine.” She surrendered at last. Bodahn smiled and sighed in relief. Sandal, sensing the change in his father's demeanor, clapped.

Alistair was surely grateful as well, but Niale didn't wait to receive his thanks. Without another glance, she turned on her heel and strode back towards the center of camp, where the fire's heat would mask that shameful burn, and its light would cast the rest of this vast new world into shadow, where her imperfections could remain unknown to her for a few hours more, at least.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niale finally learns the full truth about the Joining, and Alistair learns the some truth from Niale.

_The air was putrid, thick with steam – or was it smoke, maybe? – that rolled off the bodies all around her, stinking like ash and shit and dried vomit. The stench was inescapable; she was penned in on all sides by the bodies, with their scabby skin and tarnished armor. Her head pounded with an ominous rhythm. She wobbled and felt dead flesh beneath her feet, boots slipping loosely over meat and bones. She fell against something which screamed like screeching metal and pushed her away. The pounding grew, multiplied, folded in on itself. Suddenly she understood it to be heartbeats: her own, racing; and another; steady, deliberate, almost philosophical with its plodding pace. It laughed, somehow, and she found herself looking up, searching the starless sky for something she did not want to see, did not want to know, could not comprehend. She found it in a pair of large withered eyes, which punctured the black. There was a roar. She lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream, but found no mouth, touched no skin. And looking down, she saw no hand. Only the blood and the corpses in the bottom of the pit. And then..._

Stars. Blessed stars. And the burning smell was wood, not rot. The only roar was the symphony of cicadas.

“Bad dreams, huh?”

Niale sat up with a gasp, but it was only Alistair, dressed in a tattered shirt and a pair of patched breeches. She hadn't seen him out of his armor before, and was startled by how soft he looked. He sat against a log and watched her from across the dying embers of the campfire, eyes dilated in the deep blue night, _shining_.

So, she had been found out this quickly. She passed a hand over her mouth to hide her grimace. There was something in his voice, a wry twist in the tone, that told her he had expected this. Had he just been another one of them, then? Suspecting her to be too weak, too scared, too much of _something_ to be any good at this soldiering business? She felt a nauseating mix of hate and fear cooking in the pit of her belly.

“My stomach's not feeling well. Probably that bloody tea you made me drink.” She spat onto the ground beside her.

“Bloody _blood_ , more like. The tainted blood, remember?”

It was cool for a summer night, but Niale was sweltering in her bedroll, and both the dream and Alistair's words caused a creeping sense of claustrophobia to quicken her heart. She kicked until she was free and scrambled to her feet, bare knees and sweaty palms slipping on the grass. 

“The Joining? This is because of...?” She paused when she heard how thin and breathless she sounded. “More...More secrets!”

“It's just the one really,” he shifted uncomfortably and glanced away from her frame. “It just...needs a lot of unpacking, I suppose. You didn't get it proper.”

“So. Unpack it.”

He took a deep breath. “The dreams come with the darkspawn blood. It's part of the magic in the potion.”

Slowly, Niale's sense of panic began to fade. “...You have them to?”

He nodded curtly, still averting his gaze. “Some have it worse than others, but everybody gets them when they first join, and everybody gets them at the end. And during a Blight. That's why we know. That it _is_ a Blight, I mean.”

She had never heard of a potion able to do anything of the sort before. Intrigued, she padded around the firepit and knelt beside him, careful to tuck her nightshirt under her rear. “Conjuring dreams? How does that even work?”

Alistair drew his knees up to his chest and eyed her warily. “Erhhm...Well it's got lyrium in it. This is how I see it: lyrium sings right? Add 'spawn blood to the lyrium, somehow it gets the 'spawn to sing.”

“Lyrium sings?”

“To the addicts at least: that's what they say. Ah. I guess you wouldn't have heard that, outside of the Order.”

She nodded slowly as she tried to wrap her mind around the concept. “So, the beginning I get: new song. And the Blight I get: louder singing, but the end...? You hear singing when you kick it?”

“Not, errr, not exactly. You hear singing and _then_ you kick it. The taint still kills you in the end.”

Niale suddenly felt very cold. The summer breeze blew against her sweaty skin and left her clammy and covered in goosepimples. “It...” She wrinkled her nose. “So s'not a potion, it's a poison!”

He tilted his head. “I...guess so.”

“How long?”

“I'm not sure.” His eyes traveled down to the chain around her neck. “A few decades, usually? I think? It's supposed to be less if you join during a Blight...”

The necklace was cold against her skin, and the pendant at its end heavy on her chest. “A few. Usually.”

“Look, another Warden could tell you better than I. Duncan would have if he had...lived. He...he had begun to get them again. The nightmares. I can't imagine...” He paused, frowning with the effort it took to control his breath. “I've never stopped having them. Joined too close to the Blight, I guess.”

Alistair looked distracted. This close, Niale could see his eyes were pink, and a little puffy.

“That why you're up? The nightmares?”

“Huh? Oh, no. I mean...no. You could call this whole situation a nightmare but...no. It's just, Duncan.” He sniffed. “I try not to go on about it during the day anymore, or Morrigan might magic my mouth shut.”

Niale watched as those eyes of his glistened with returning grief. “It's alright. Duncan was a decent man. Worthy o' being mourned.”

“He had this...way about him. When you were with him you felt like you belonged, no matter what you were doing. Now...Ah, Maker.” Alistair sniffed again, slapped his knee, and straightened his back. “You really don't have to do this, you know.”

Niale frowned. “Do what?”

He gestured at the distance between them, and there was something about the way he moved that made him seem...irritated?

“The platitudes. You don't have to: I get it. You didn't know him as long as I did, and the circumstances of your Joining were different. I don't expect you to feel broken up about it.” Two fat tears caught in his eyelashes, smearing his cheeks with wet, and he made no effort to hide them or wipe them dry. He was unashamed of his emotions, a trait which was alien, almost exotic, to Niale.

_He's dead and we're not, so let's get on with it_. That's what she had said at Flemeth's shack. She had only meant that they could not afford the time to dwell on their sorrow, but her words had come out terse, as they always did. The memory made her face hot. 

“I am. I mean...” She turned to look at the firepit, and in the veins of yellow beneath the ash, she saw the all the tragedies of her life, both big and small, laid out before her. “People can break in different ways. Duncan was a good man, and the world is darker now he's gone.”

“You seemed to think different at Ostagar.” There was a sullen whine in Allistair's tone.

“What?”

“You said he was a user who liked to collect people the way a child collects dolls.”

“Oh.” She had said that, too. She inspected the grass between her toes. She hadn't thought it would have mattered this much. Foolish. “Duncan saved my life. Twice in one day. And my face. And 'e was kind, and 'e never let anyone give or take any shit. Of course I liked 'im. I just...I was just sayin' that.”

“ _Why_?”

When she finally brought her eyes back to Alistair, his face was tense: his mouth pulled taut; his eyebrows upturned. It was such a powerful mix of hurt and bewilderment that she flinched and looked away again.

“To...get a rise?” Her voice was weak: it was weak reasoning. “I don't know...Sometimes I just...I say things I don't believe.”

“You mean you lie.”

“No, it's...” She slowly rubbed her hands together. “...Yes.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him finally turn his face away from hers, and she sighed a soft breath of relief.

The sound was swallowed by Alistair's laughter, brittle and bitter and thick with tears. He grabbed a pebble from the ground and chucked it at the fire. The ash crumpled where it struck, and the glow of the embers swelled angrily.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful. Quite the gift you're turning out to be.”

Anger flashed in her stomach and as a reflex she opened her mouth to offer a retort, but caught herself before she could. 

When they killed her mother, Niale had called her father every name in the book, and some she came up with herself. She had shouted, she had slapped, and she had slammed doors. She had gone out and got tattoos in the shape of the facepaint she wore for Shialora, knowing how much he despised her work and thinking it proof of how little she cared for him.

He had always forgived her her rages.

“That's...fair,” She forced herself to say.

But Alistair seemed to disagree. Already his face was slackening and his jaw dropping. He leaned away from her and touched a hand to his mouth. 

“No. No it wasn't, it was horrible! I'm sorry, I didn't -” His breath caught in his chest. “I'm glad you're here, Nails.”

“I'm no seasoned veteran.” She spoke begrudgingly at first, but once the words were out they felt good to say. “I 'aven't a clue what to do.”

“Neither do I.”

She squinted sharply at him. “More of a clue than you let on, innit?”

“I-” the man's words faltered, and his eyes fell from her face to her folded knees.

“You want to go to Redcliffe.”

“After hearing about Eamon? I...do.” He seemed to speak true, and yet something about the admission caused him to grimace.

Niale decided not to pry. “Then...” she stood, an air of finality in her movements, and offered an arm to help him up. “We go to Redcliffe.”

Alistair examined her for a moment, eyes trailing slowly up her body, before he smiled and took her hand. His palm was warm against hers. “Thank you.”


End file.
